


Something Wicked

by seazu



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Other, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Mickey, Vampires, Witches, female ian, non-binary, non-binary mickey, witch ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/pseuds/seazu
Summary: “Seriously man, don’t fuckin’ move.”Ian jerked her head around this time to check the back seat, but it was just her groceries. She pulled a face and eyed them suspiciously, wanting to be sure it wasn’t her food deciding to talk to her. The pringles guy winked eternally.“I knew I should have got the Lay's,” she said woefully to herself.~Fem!Ian Gallagher is a Witch living on the outskirts of the city, during her monthly grocery trip she runs into NB!Mickey, who finds shelter from the sun by hiding under her car.





	1. Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> I've re-written this a bunch of times, because I had the story in my head but I was initially afraid to change so much about Ian and Mickey. I didn't want them to be unrecognizable. Changing their genders as well as their ages (in Mickey's case) and shifting them into a Witch and a Vampire, taking them out of their usual environments. It's been a challenge to keep them true to their cores, but I love this story and I'm excited to continue it, I hope you guys like it!  
> ~  
> For more contact/requests, find me on Tumblr @jaaamesbaxter

“Psst. Don’t move.”

Ian blinked, eyebrows raising slowly as she peered around, half into the driver’s seat. She looked around but she couldn’t see anyone. Her skin crawled, begging that it wasn’t some paranoid delusion or sign that she should add schizophrenia to the list of disorders. She swallowed hard and kept her chin up as she pulled her other leg into the car, but before she closed the door, the hissed voice came again.

“Seriously man, don’t fuckin’ move.”

Ian jerked her head around this time to check the back seat, but it was just her groceries. She pulled a face and eyed them suspiciously, wanting to be sure it wasn’t her food deciding to talk to her. The pringles guy winked eternally.

“I knew I should have got the Lay’s,” she said woefully to herself.

“Fuck dude, come on, Doritos. Always Doritos.”

“Why would the Pringles guy want me to get Doritos?” Ian said to the can, half surprised, half appalled.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are _you_ talking about?”

“I’m down here.”

“Where?”

“Under your fuckin’ car, dumb-ass.”

Ian blinked again and poked her head out the car, and leaned down so she could look under, sure enough, there was a boy under there. “Uh… hi.”

“Hey,” he said back, face held neutral like this was completely normal. “Don’t move your car.”

“Why are you under there?”

“I’m… stuck.”

“Oh fuck, did I run you over when I parked?” she gasped.

“No, no, nothin’ like that, just… too bright, sun doesn’t agree with me.”

Ian snorted, and rolled her eyes, “what, are you a vampire or somethin’?”

The boy stared back wordlessly, and Ian’s eyes slowly widened.

“Wait, no shit-?!”

~

The awkward shuffle of getting Mickey -- as Ian learned his name was -- into the back of his car and away from direct sunlight required a throw from the back of his car and a lot of strategic maneuvering. Once there, Mickey just huddled in the back among her bags like a tartan ghost, wrapped up head to toe, bulge appearing now and again as he tipped the bottle he cradled to his lips under the blanket.

“Are you seriously drinking under there?”

“Well I _would_ smoke but I’m pretty sure the whole thing would go up in flames.”

“So... yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Guiding him to her house was also something of a struggle, Mickey’s steps restricted by the way he’d been bundled up, so he looked a little like some model trying to walk a runway in a dress that hugged a tight band around their ankles. A few times Ian had to catch him around the… what he assumed was a waist, to stop him from falling over the path. Once he was safe indoors, she jogged back to the car to get her things.

Ian’s house wasn’t much, it was far off in the outskirts of the city, where nature was overtaking anything man-made and everything looked a little more wild. The house itself was closer to a shack, looking like it might fall down any second, everything contained in a few rooms, one storey. Mickey was taking the liberty of exploring it by the time Ian came back, bags in hand.

“Kind of a shit-hole here, isn’t it?” Mickey was saying when he walked in, blanket bunched around his shoulders like a shawl as he snooped around the room, examining little bottles and old books.

“Gee, thanks,” Ian said dryly, raising an eyebrow as she passed through, getting a proper look at Mickey for the first time as she did so. Peering through the kitchen door and watching him pad around the living-room. He looked older now that she thought about it, his skin was pale and smooth, seemed completely unscarred, completely untouched, exactly why she mistook him for a child with an awful fucking mouth. The longer she examined Mickey the less sure she was that he even _was_ a guy. It was hard to decipher, everything about him was so ambiguous. His stature, he didn’t really look more than a meter and a half, though she could now see the muscles bulging in his arms and torso. Hair that seemed like it was used to being slicked back but right now fluffed out widely, and when he turned to look at Ian and catch her gaze, she was overtaken by how piercing his eyes were. Too blue. He hadn’t really noticed that before, under the car. Lips full, but jaw sharp. She searched for the bump of his throat.

“What?”

Ian just shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, “just never met a vampire before,” turning her attention back to his groceries.

“Sure about that?” Mickey said, shaking a jar full of what looked like tiny bones.

“Careful with those!”

Mickey snorted setting them down on the shelf again, “this ain’t no normal person’s house. What you got going on here?”

Ian stared back at Mickey defiantly, “none of your business.”

Mickey quirked an eyebrow but his features were tinted with at least a hint of amusement, “I told you my big secret, and you can’t tell me yours?”

Ian had settled back to filling her cupboards, distancing herself from the conversation, “you volunteered that information, so it can’t have been _much_ of a secret.”

“You guessed.”

“You could have lied.”

“What can I say, I trust you.”

“You just met me.”

A silence fell, so deadly quiet that Ian had to look into the living-room again just to be sure someone actually was in there and he hadn’t just imagined Mickey afterall. He was still there, squinting at the rows of books on one of her shelves. Standing so perfectly still it was unnerving.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a haunted house -- or maybe Shack. Is shack a better word?”

“This how you make all your friends?”

“And you ain’t some prop-for-rent place, right?”

“Would you fuck off and stop trying to Sherlock Holmes my life?”

Mickey smirked and turned his head to her, flashing teeth that looked far less interesting than she thought they would, all things considered, “so you could say I’m trying to Holmes your Home.”

“That was fucking awful, just get out.”

“Can’t leave until night, otherwise you’re going to have a serious mess on your lawn.”

Ian made a frustrated noise and turned back to the kitchen, busying herself with making food, not bothering to ask if he wanted anything as he’d turned back to his bottle, curling up on her couch with her tarp like he owned the place.

~

She eyed him repeatedly. Sitting in her chair, eating and trying to read with her free hand and book propped up on the arm. Ultimately she was failing, and Mickey can tell that she’s just distracted by him. He cradles his bottle and looks up at her, quirking an eyebrow and waiting to meet her gaze. When she glances up at him again she almost drops her plate with surprise.

“Just say it, or ask, whatever it is.”

“Whatever what is?”

“Whatever it is that has you staring at me every two seconds.”

“Nothing.”

“Ian.”

“What?”

“Just fuckin’ _ask_.”

Ian swallowed, and Mickey could visibly see the way her neck moved with it, long elegant neck. He could see the artery pulsing in it from here, and he was momentarily distracted from her uncomfortable expression by it. Eventually managing to meet her gaze. “Are you a boy?”

Mickey blinked, surprised, and his eyebrows surged up again, “seriously?”

“You said ask!”

“But I mean, you find a vampire under your car and take me home, and _that’s_ your question? Gender? What the fuck does that matter?”

“I just… I don’t know what way to…” she shifted looking even less comfortable.

He took pity on her, “you live for a few hundred years, the concept kind of loses its shine. Don’t matter what I got between my legs, don’t matter what you wanna call me. I’m just Mickey. He, She, Them, whatever is fuckin’ trendy right now. Don’t matter to me, shouldn’t matter to you.”

“I don’t-- it doesn’t matter I just… I was…”

“It’s fine, Ian. I really don’t give a fuck, I stopped about two centuries ago.”

“Fuck.”

“You gonna tell me what you are or do I gotta just guess,” he was hoping to play on how awkward she was to get a straight answer, but considering how stubborn she was, he didn’t like his chances.

“You can guess,” she said, shrugging and shoving food in her mouth like a gag.

“Witch.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his again, “you ever met one before?” she asked around the mouthful of food.

“Probably met more of them than I realise,” he said, taking in her reaction, “your type can be like that.”

“I didn’t say they were my type.”

“Didn’t say they weren’t.”

A growl rumbled from behind Mickey, across the room, he instantly leapt to his feet, on the defensive, holding his bottle forward more like an offering than a weapon, but he didn’t want to drop it no matter what the danger. Two fiery eyes stared back, and the growl got louder.

~

 


	2. Luck

“Woah, woah, woah, hey there, it’s okay,” Ian said, standing and raising her hands to placate the situation.

Mickey stared at her wild eyed and then back at the fox that had apparently just wandered in and was now poised and ready to pounce, growl rippling in it’s throat. Mickey did not like being threatened, by person or animal.

“It’s okay, he’s my familiar, he’s -- this is Mickey, he’s cool.” Ian blinked, and then frowned, “she’s cool?” finally she looked at Mickey, reading his deadpan expression, staring back at her “they’re cool?”

“Not really the time, can you just call off your attack dog?”

The Fox barked at him, which didn’t help it's case any, before looking at Ian and after a brief staring contest, he sat and the sound stopped. He turned his gaze back to Mickey, yowled a few times for Ian’s benefit and then moved to curl by her feet.

“Ain’t afraid that thing has rabies or somethin’?” Mickey said, eyeing it as he took a seat, drawing his legs in to avoid the thin shaft of light that had started to peek through a hole in the blinds as the sun moved.

“Shouldn’t you be in a coffin,” Ian snapped, dropping some food down from her plate for the Fox who sniffed before licking it up.

“Why you got a spare one lying around?”

“What were you doing out in the daylight anyway?”

“Just out for a walk.”

“In the blazing sun, which you apparently turn crispy at the sight of. Right. How are you even up now when it’s daylight.”

“Long as it doesn’t actually touch me directly I’m fine.”

“When do you sleep?”

“I don’t normally, unless I get hurt or haven’t fed for a while.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed, “how long has it been since you fed?”

“Wow, really fuckin' popped the lid on the whole question can, didn't I? Just a few hours, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“I don’t wear _panties_.”

“Aah, a commando gal, I can respect that.”

Ian’s frown deepened and she practically had to bite her tongue to stop from snapping at him again. She looked down at her Familiar, who was staring at Mickey still, she could feel the distrust radiating from him, but she was at least relaxed to know that they could both see him and it wasn’t just her brain.

~

There were glasses and bottles circling Mickey as he leaned into the bar, the dark wood was sticky before he even slumped down into a stool, but he preferred sitting here. Call it hiding in plain sight, or call it not giving a fuck, the amount of liquor he could consume before even feeling a tingle from it was going to arouse suspicion no matter where he was and it hadn’t convinced him to go sober yet.

The barman eyed him warily as he raised his finger to summon another.

“You sure, lady? You had enough to put down a horse.”

“Yeah, got me one of those steel livers, takes more than this,” he says with a smile, almost acting a little drunk just to make him less cautious.

He liked bars like this. Dark pits in the asshole of nowhere. Low lights to save on the electric bills, covered windows and dark woods everywhere, felt like he was buried. Between that and the stink of stale sweat, and alcohol, it was almost like home. There were hundreds of shitholes like this scattered across the country, he rarely had to look too hard to find one. Drink until he couldn’t fill himself any more, and the light was gone, and then shuffle onwards through this mortal plain.

That was the thing, really, what kept him grounded. The seasons whipped around him in moments, and people were born and decayed as quickly; but there would always be a shithole bar with asshole patrons, there would always be someone who would give him the eye and take him home, and there would always, _always_ be alcohol. No matter how much the world changed around him, these things kept him sane. Somewhat sane. But the longer it went on the more jaded he felt, no matter how often he thought he felt love, he’d blink and they’d turn to sand, slipping through his fingers.

A loud screeching of a chair from the back of the room brought him back to reality. The slow clip of boots against the wooden floor. His back stiffened automatically, like it was waiting for a knife to be slipped between his shoulder-blades. He turned his head just marginally to catch a look at the guy, tall, dark and ugly. He leaned next to him at the bar with an air of arrogance, the cat that got the cream and all that. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I got a drink,” he said, swirling the fresh glass.

“How about I pay for that one then?”

“I’m good. Fuck off.”

“Maybe you’d like some of the red stuff.”

“Don’t like wine.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

Mickey glanced up at him slowly, and narrowed his eyes. What was he saying earlier about assholes? The man stared down, and Mickey looked at him properly. Long shaggy brown hair that hadn’t been brushed, possibly ever. Skin leathered by the sun and littered with scars and burns, eyes dark and glassy, teeth yellowed under his thin, crooked smile. He was Human, he could tell by the quick pulse of his heart, but he was an Enlightened one at least. A Hunter of his kind.

“Do we have a problem?” Mickey asked, turning on his stool to face him fully.

“Not in my bar you don’t,” the barman chipped in, placing a hand purposefully under the bar.

The Hunter eyed the barman, and then Mickey. His skin crawled. Mickey stepped off the stool and reached into his pocket, purposefully slow as he laid out bills to cover his tab for the day and tipped back his last glass, before nodding and heading outside.

He’d overstayed his welcome, he hadn’t even seen the change of shift because no way had the barman stayed all this time. Through the day and most of the night. The moon was heading down and the sun was coming up. This couldn’t take long. The Hunter was smirking as he followed Mickey out, and there were more waiting at the entrance, should have known he wouldn’t be so lucky. He eyed them warily as he stepped through. The outside of the bar was a wasteland of concrete and trash cans and broken down cars. How they tracked him down to the asshole of nowhere was beyond him.

Just his luck.

“We ain’t in the habit of takin’ down girls,” the Hunter explained unnecessarily, Mickey just rolled his eyes.

“Why? Afraid you ain’t good enough?”

Some of them snorted, others laughed as they moved to circle Mickey and pull out various weapons, some modern, some archaic.

Mickey rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Let’s do this, then.”

~

All in all it was a pretty decent meal. Standing among the mess of bodies, blood dripping from his lips as he sucked on a dismembered arm, all he knew for certain was that he couldn’t step back into that bar. Something told him it would be easy to connect the blood-drenched patron to the stack of corpses outside. He started poking about at the cars littered around here, smashing the window of one that looked okay under the hood, and crouching to work on hot-wiring it. It was interesting what skills you could pick up with infinite time on your side.

He just got it roaring to life and had hopped in when his body jerked violently, the car coming with it, and a deafening metal grinding noise, glass shattering. He looked across to see a truck smashed into the side of his car. Peering he could just make out one of the guys he thought he’d just killed. Covered in blood, minus an arm. He looked at the arm he’d just tossed into the passenger seat and back at the guy. Fuck. The guy started to reverse so he could slam him again, probably hoping to pin him against the compound wall, but Mickey took that opportunity to throw the car into drive and skid away. He was in no way a decent driver, never taken a proper lesson in his long life, but he knew how to make it move in a hurry.

Her tires screamed across the tarmac with the truck in hot pursuit, but the car was already hanging together before one side was concaved. Beams flicked on behind him and he got that feeling in his back again, waiting for a knife. He tried for the lights on his car but either they didn’t work or he couldn’t find them. He roared on regardless. Pressing his foot so hard down but the truck was almost against his bumper, he could feel it. Basically see every pore of the guys face as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. The sheer speed meant every turn of the steering wheel was magnified and he swerved and veered way more than he meant to. A few narrow misses of other cars as they popped up in the other lane. It was by no means a busy road but it was enough to scare the shit out of most people involved. How long until the cops turned up? He could _not_ try to survive a cell during the day.

He kept driving, eyes searching for an escape, but it was quickly becoming dirt roads, farms and little else. The light was starting to come in, as the last Hunter nipped his bumper, making him veer and swerve. Something sparkled to his left and he peered out to spot salvation. The last time the Hunter bumped him he didn’t try to stop the swerve, but went with it, driving full speed into a lake. He sucked in air he didn’t need as he sank, just to keep the water out of his lungs and stomach so he didn’t have to vomit it out later. He cracked open the windows a little so the car would fill and sink faster, and he sat. And he waited. Exploring for something to do he found what he hoped was a _fresh_ shirt balled up in the back, pulling it on to replace his bloodied clothes. There was a gun in the glove box, which was now probably useless thanks to the water. The only real useable thing was a bottle of Whiskey that he found stowed away. Only about a third of it gone. Score. The lake was shallow enough that as the sun came up more fully, it travelled down farther and he could see a little more. But not enough to read the book he found under the seat, and since it was fucking hard to drink underwater, that left him with very little to do.

After a reasonable amount of time he surfaced, letting himself float up to a part that seemed shaded, just as far as his nose, peeking up and glancing around. Not seeing much more than he expected, he dragged himself up and let himself breathe again, out of habit more than anything. He’d let himself stay down there all day if it wasn’t for the fact that he had never liked water, or swimming, especially when he was still alive. After a while staying under there would be a fate worse than death.

It was a tree that was providing him cover, and he perched under it while he tried to plot his course. He had an okay sense of direction, could usually find the nearest town. That’s all he needed, somewhere with a motel or a bar or somewhere he could hide out for a few hours. Getting there was the issue, though. Sticking out of direct light the whole way. There was a smaller tree a few feet away and another after that. Which he ran to as quickly as he could. Every second in the sunlight he could feel himself start to sizzle, and steam where water suddenly burnt off him. He was dry by the time he made it to the third tree. Once he made it to the road, he remembered his arm. The one he’d left in the car and mourned it. The burns he’d incur, most likely, he could use some extra juice. He just hoped the bellyful of Hunters he’d dried would take him through the worst of it, and the bottle of Whiskey would do the rest.

He tucked the bottle down his pants as he readied himself. Waiting for the opportune moment. Waiting for a ride. When he saw a car coming he leapt last second, using his advanced speed to its full advantage to perch himself on the road, laid out like roadkill. Purposefully choosing a spot shadowed by another overhanging tree, and quickly grabbing the underside of the car to whisk him away, hopefully to somewhere better than the last place.

What he didn’t expect was to be dumped off in the asshole of nowhere, again. And this time, under a car in the middle of a hot lot with nowhere for him to run. He had to just wait for the sun to duck behind some clouds or the nearest building, or indeed just sink completely. He wasn’t exactly the most patient person in the world. He flipped onto his stomach after he realised he couldn’t get the angle to drink under here anyway, and surveyed the area. All he could really see was a post office and a little store. Barely any people, and the sun was _hot._ He could feel it from here. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. He was stuck. For who knows how long. Until the driver came back for their car he supposed. And then he was out of luck. No way he could make it five seconds from this car without bursting into flames. And who knows how long he’d be clinging to the bottom of this car. All it would take would be one bump to knock him off and he’d burn anyway.

It was only twenty minutes before familiar ankles returned. Putting armfuls of groceries into the back before stepping into the front. _Fuck fuck fuck._

“Psst. Don’t move.”


End file.
